She twirls the ring on her left hand. A yellow stone surrounded by tiny diamonds that form the shape of a daisy. How sweet. Someone must love her dearly. What would it be like to have that? Not the ring, but someone who’s prepared to stand by you, no matter what. I’ve never even had a friend like that. The closest I’ve got is Eric.
I reach for the tea, taking a sip of the fragrant brew, and Daisy smiles.
“So, you’re stuck in this job because of your dad,” she summarizes. “And you’re attracted to the guy you’re working for, but he’s a jerk.”
“In a nutshell.” I pause, then decide there’s more to it. “But the thing is… he’s not actually a jerk? I don’t know. When we met, he was really kind, and he listened to me ramble on…” An awkward laugh slips from me as I look back at Daisy. “Like you are.”
She laughs too, motioning around us. “It’s quiet, and I’m bored. Ramble away.”
I smile. That weirdly makes me feel better.
“But you met outside of work, right?” Daisy continues. “You mentioned it was before you knew who he was.”
I nod. “We met at a bar, over lunch, the day before I started. Had a couple of drinks, went to the restroom together…” I trail off, expecting Daisy to wrinkle her nose in distaste, but she takes it in stride.
“People are different outside of work,” she murmurs. “You see a different side to them.”
“That’s true.” I hadn’t considered that, but it makes sense. The guy I met at the barwasn’tWork Aidan. He wasn’t nearly as uptight. It’s hard to imagine Work Aidan accepting a blowjob during the day. Or maybe it’s not. I think again of that burning look in his eye a few moments ago, then shake it off.
“The thing is,” I continue, dipping the teabag absently, “I actually think I could help him with this project we have, but he won’t listen to a word I say.”
“That sucks.” Daisy tilts her head in thought. “But could you just… work on the project anyway? Like, show him how good it could be, so he has to accept your help?”
I consider this. Could I do that? Draft plans for the place myself? Despite bombing spectacularly at Revit, I have the skills to draft by hand.
But Dad hired me as an assistant. Would I really have the balls to believe I could contribute to a client proposal?
I turn this over in my mind as I bite into the cupcake. An explosion of tart lemony sweetness hits my tongue, and I groan. “This is amazing,” I tell Daisy. Better than the ones uptown, and that’s saying a lot.
Daisy beams. “Isn’t it? My friend Poppy makes them.”
I nod, polishing off the treat and wishing they had more, but I should probably get back to the office.
“Thanks for listening,” I say, wiping my hands and rising to go. “And for the tea. You’re right, I needed it.”
She smiles, standing too. “You’re welcome.”
I hesitate, then decide to get Aidan a coffee. It’s the least he deserves after what he said to me in the Uber, but even after his harsh words, I can’t deny the guilt tugging at me. It’s my fault he’s working on the Bushwick project. He’d be remodeling a museum right now if it weren’t for me, and while I can’t understand why he’d rather do that than something down to earth like the studios, I still feel bad.
“There you go,” Daisy says, handing me the coffee with a smile. “I forgot to ask, what’s your name?”
“Iris,” I say.
“Like the flower?”
I nod, realizing for the first time we’re both named after flowers. And her friend who makes the cupcakes. Poppy. How funny.
Daisy chuffs a quiet, knowing laugh, smiling to herself. “Of course,” she murmurs. “See you again soon, Iris.”
I’m surprised to find I’m smiling as I leave Joe’s. I feel lighter after talking to Daisy, and I can’t stop thinking about what she said, about working on the project anyway.
By the time I get back to the office, I’m brimming with ideas. I climb the stairs to our floor, shrugging out of my coat, then turn to Aidan’s office. He’s standing at his drafting table, lost in the work, and I pause, watching him. Why does he use that old-fashioned drafting table instead of a modern tablet, like Dad?
I lean against the doorframe, taking in the crease of concentration on his brow, his large hand splayed out across the tracing paper. He’s left-handed, I notice for the first time, and there’s something incredibly endearing about that. It somehow makes him a little more human. I listen to the soft, satisfying scrape of his pencil across the paper, and something shifts in my chest. I forgot how much I love that sound, how much I actuallylikedrafting by hand, seeing my vision come to life on the page. So much of our work at school revolved around technology, but it’s not the same on a screen.
I inch into the room, trying to see his plan. It’s a rough sketch, but already I can see he’s added a floating wall to separate the sleeping area. While architecturally impressive, it’ll block light and make the space feel claustrophobic. A low, twelve-inch platform would work better to define the space without cutting it off, and it could double as hidden storage.My chest fizzes with anticipation as I imagine the space, the potential.
Aidan glances up, sensing my presence, and I whip my gaze away from his work, holding my breath as his stormy-gray eyes land on me. They move over my face for a moment, and there’s a flicker of something I can’t quite read there. Remorse, maybe. Then he notices the cup in my hand and his brows crash together, as if remembering he’s angry at me.
